


I do not want to be left on my own

by duchessofclarence



Category: The White Queen (TV)
Genre: F/M, War of the Roses, cousins war, the white queen - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-21 01:11:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/894041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duchessofclarence/pseuds/duchessofclarence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isabel worries over her sister and the fate of her family, affecting her relationship with George.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I do not want to be left on my own

Isabel and her lord husband had been pardoned and accepted back into court, but she could not feel the sensation of relief or contentment over her elevated position. Her inner child would have screamed at the prospect of all the dresses and jewels she would receive now as a duchess and an eminent individual in court. However, she could not drive away the horrid memories that remained of her sister – Isabel had been so utterly desperate to return home and to live in comfort that it wasn’t until she had set sail from France that she realised how much her sister would suffer.

“Come here,” she said in a brisk tone, her words directed at the house maid who knelt at the hearth and brushed the dead embers into her pan. The girl, of about thirteen, rose to her feet and scampered to her mistress’s side in a mere moment. “I will dine in my own bed chambers and will not attend court this afternoon; bring me some wine.”

The maid curtsied in response to her commands and scuffled off with her things. She would pass these demands onto one of her ladies-in-waiting and no doubt her husband would soon come to insist that she attends court with him.

She was intent on remaining in the favour of the King and Queen, but she felt torn between her husband and her family. She had married George and she had given her life to him in more ways than one, but her father was at war with York and her most beloved sister had become an enemy with their mother at her side. She had torn alliances and she could not abide the thought of her poor sister, tossed into the house of Lancaster to become a chew toy for that ridiculous Prince and his mother.

There was a faint knock on the door, and then two of her ladies maids entered – one with some warm food and the other with a bottle of wine. Isabel sat in her usual position at the window as the women arranged her morning meal on the small wooden table in front of her. The maid poured the rich red liquid into her cup and made to leave until Isabel held her hand in the air as a signal for them to halt. 

“Leave the rest of the wine,” she murmured, almost inaudibly.

The women curtsied in unison and quickly left the room and their mistress to her own affairs. Isabel sat for a moment or two in silence, her fists clenching and unclenching on the arms of the chair as she tried to calm her nerves – but each time she had no distraction, she would see her sister’s tearful face in her mind, pleading with her not to leave her alone and that she could not abide to be without her.

 _Please, Izzy, I cannot remain here without you,_ Anne had said to her. Isabel remembered that she continued to pack without looking in her sister’s direction; it wasn’t until her sweetest sister fell to her knees in front of her that she took notice. _I am to be married, and I don’t know what to do…and I am so very scared, Isabel._

The Duchess of Clarence could feel hot tears on her face as she remembered the scene so well in her mind; instead of falling to the floor and embracing her sister as she had wanted to, she merely told her that she was to do her duty and then she left. Anne’s words of desperation and pleads remained etched into her troubled mind, and no matter how much she wanted to move on and be the cold, statuesque woman that many believed her to be, she could not do so.

Isabel was as still as a statue; her handsome features tainted with tears and her fists clenched on either side of her. But still, she remained still for some time, until the time came when she could not hold in the emotions that threatened to drown her. She stood within a mere second and threw her platter of food across her bed chamber; the contents of the platter finding the walls and the floor. Her chair fell to the ground behind her as she leapt out of it and bounded towards her bed, yanking at the rich curtains that fell around it until they fell in a heap beneath her. Her carnage didn’t end there, as she continued to find whatever delicate item she could and throw it at the wall; resulting in endless smashing and sobs of despair.

She fell to her knees in front of the hearth, her head buried in her hands as her shoulder shook from the cries that wracked her body. _Please forgive me, Anne._

She turned her head to look at the bottle of wine that still lay on the table, overturned but undamaged. Isabel reached for the crimson liquid and as soon as the bottle touched her delicate lips, she drank and drank until she could feel her stomach clench into knots at the thought of consuming more. _Could this drown my sorrow?_ She shook her head in silent protest of herself and put the bottle back on the table.

_I could wake tomorrow and see the heads of my family on spikes outside my window._

The mere thought evoked more tears from the delicate Duchess. The door creaked open and the housemaid from before peaked her head inside, almost warily.

“My lady…” she murmured in shock. 

The woman made an attempt to enter the room, until Isabel’s face contorted with pain once more and she screamed at the maid to retreat her steps and leave her be. The door closed behind her, but it wasn’t long until her husband was at the door – and he entered without a care in the world, not caring whether or not his dear wife wanted visitors. His stride was sure and confident, his face emotionless as he looked around the room with disdain and disappointment.

“George…” Isabel whispered, her hands pawing at the hems of her dress. 

Her husband held his hand in the air in dismissal; he did not want to hear her voice nor look at her tear-stained face in fear that he would shake her until she broke. He made a clear command for those looming at the door to leave them in privacy; it was evident from his tone that he was furious…humiliated even, to have such a wife. 

“Do you understand how fortunate we are to have been pardoned?” he spoke with such a presence that Isabel shrunk back into the wall, her head hung in shame. “I have listened to you snivel about your family since you returned, Isabel, and I did not say a word for I allowed you time to grieve for them. But this…this madness, is not acceptable. You are a royal duchess and my own wife, and you will behave.” 

George made to leave the room, when he heard the shuffle of her dresses as she rose from her shameful place on the ground to stand once more. 

“I do not want to see my family dead. I do not want to be left on my own.”

He had his hand on the door when she broke into uncontrollable sobs of grief and anger – that this was how her life had turned out. She had all that she had desired in material terms, but she had always pictured her mother, father and sister at her side. 

George hesitated, and then turned on his heel to come back into the room, pausing when he was face to face with his broken wife. He took her by the shoulders, his hands softened this time as he looked at her in desperation. 

“We must not let the King see us as traitors, Isabel. Our loyalties must lie with York now, and that could mean the destruction of your family…but that was a path chosen. We have failed in our endeavours and now we must plead for forgiveness.” 

Isabel nodded her head, for she understood that the Queen watched her like a hawk when she was at court and one wrong move could have them both exiled. 

“And Isabel, you are _not_ on your own…” 

The Duke wasn’t one for much shows of affection toward his wife, for their marriage had been consumed with their quest for the crown and her father’s plans – they did not have the time to know each other and learn about each other. However, at that moment, George awkwardly dried the tears from his wife’s face.

“I am so scared,” she told him; still shaking from her previous outburst but more composed now that she had let all of the madness out in that one time. 

“I know, Isabel.”


End file.
